


Crossfire

by mousehound



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Derek Hale, BAMF Stiles, Fluff, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Rescue, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-13 22:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15375231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mousehound/pseuds/mousehound
Summary: A collection of Stiles/Derek rescue fics inspired by the Killers song, Crossfire.





	1. Kidnapping

The huff of his own breath from gasping, desperate, panting lungs and weak pounding of his heart were the only sounds that echoed in Stiles’ cell. He’d been left too long hanging from his wrists. The hunters who’d been preparing to work him over for a fourth time hadn’t bothered to unhook his arms from the ceiling when they’d been interrupted by a perimeter alarm blaring on their phones. Stiles considered cursing them out but he wasn’t sure he had enough wind left to stay conscious much longer, let alone waste it calling those assholes names. 

If Stiles got out of this he and Chris were going to be having words. 

The edge of his toes caught the floor as he tried to shift slightly and ease the pressure on his shoulders and chest, but it wasn’t enough and a frustrated whine slipped through Stiles’ teeth. He glared up the chains as though he might will them away through sheer desperation before falling limp, his vision darkening around the edges.

It took more effort than he really cared to think about to draw his next few breaths and a teeny, tiny bit of Stiles regretted he was the squishy, vulnerable human pack member. The whole Spark thing didn’t count when random hunters were prepared to jump him in a grocery store parking lot, and shit, that was twenty bucks in snacks he was never going to see again. 

Something boomed in the distance, loud enough that even the constant roar of blood pounding in Stiles’ ears couldn’t drown it out. He tipped his head slightly, and grinned at the figure in the doorway.

“H-hey... sou-sourwolf,” he panted. There was a blur of movement and then hands; lifting, freeing, lowering. Suddenly he could breathe and sweet mother of curly fries did it hurt. Blood and oxygen flooded starved muscles like liquid fire and all he could do was shake while warm hands rubbed over his arms and fingers.

“Don’t call me that, Stiles,” Derek replied roughly and kept up the work of coaxing life back into Stiles’ limbs. His claws were hidden but his face was still wolfed out, eyes glowing in the dim little cell. There was a smear of red across his cheek that Stiles decided not to examine too closely and fine veins of black tracing the pain Derek was carefully siphoning away. 

“W-whatever, you love it!” Stiles said, and winced as Derek scoffed and slipped an arm around his waist. “You know, I’m all about the princess carry… like if you wanted to. No pressure man, it just-” he squeaked, suddenly airborne and pressed against black cotton and leather.

“Woah, yeah,” he mumbled, the sudden smell of sweat and salt and everything Derek drowning out the mildew scent of the cell. There was something incredibly unfair about the fact that it took literal torture for Stiles to get a little attention from an attractive man, he mused, before a thought struck him. “H-hey, did someone get my car?”

Derek snarled, the glow of his eyes brightening. 

“…Derek?” Stiles tensed, and craned his head to look for a threat. The crumbling hallway was empty but a werewolf’s senses were much better than his own.  
“Isaac found it,” Derek growled, “out in the preserve. It was on fire.” 

Stiles felt like someone had plunged a knife into his chest, his already tight lungs squeezed out a sound that might have been a whimper. “Bertha’s dead?” 

“We’ll fix the car, now shut up!”

“Not cool man, I’ve been in a freaking c-cell for at least two days,” Stiles scolded, though coughing through the words definitely lessened the impact. He wondered if he was punch drunk. That would be kinda cool, like a boxing champ. Or maybe not, brain damage was bad right? “Do you think I have brain damage? 

Derek snorted. 

“Rude, I-” Derek stopped suddenly, alert, and Stiles snapped his mouth shut. A silent growl rumbled in Derek’s chest, vibrating through Stiles’ body and he was lowered carefully to the ground. 

“Keep out of the way,” Derek commanded, claws sprouting from his fingers as he took up a guard position. 

Stile resisted the urge to roll his eyes, he wasn’t a sixteen year old kid anymore, in need of protection. He was a goddamned Spark…just maybe a little low on juice after being beaten on and left hanging for hours. That didn’t mean he couldn’t still have a trick or two ready. 

A hunter rounded the corner, a mean son of a bitch, if Stiles recalled correctly. He was responsible for most of the bruising that was still blooming in shades of red and purple down Stiles’ legs. The man had a gun in his hand and a taser on his belt, but was absolutely unprepared for the rage of an alpha werewolf. 

The fight, if you could even call it that, was over instantly. Derek leapt, knocking aside the gun and burying his claws the hunter’s chest in a single movement. Stiles winced, it might be a tough one to explain to Chris later, and the pack could do without another crazy revenge scenario. Hunters weren’t much for working through their issues in therapy.  


“My hero,” Stile deadpanned when Derek turned back to him, and tried out a wan smile. “Common, get me home Der-bear.”

“One day I’m just going to leave you in one of these places,” Derek replied, but lifted Stiles gently ad carefully against his chest. 

“Lame threat,” Stiles said and snuggled in, because why not? “You love me too much to leave me.”

He felt the quick constriction in Derek’s breathing, the waver in his heart where it beat under Stiles’ ear. “Holy shit! You totally love me!”

Punch drunk, concussed, whatever; Stiles’ felt his brain practically short circuit. How many years had he pined over Derek? It was a secret he hadn’t even really shared with Scott, apart from that one time when they went out drinking and Stiles’ confessed he might be, could be, probably was bi. But he’d learned to live with the fact that Derek was unavailable, pretty much to anybody since his string of extremely bad choices in girlfriends. 

“We’re talking abou –“ Stile broke off as he was struck by another coughing fit, his lungs sore and throat dry. “L-later, talking about it later.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Derek rumbled, because of course he was going to pretend nothing happened. Derek didn’t do happy endings. But screw that, because Stiles definitely did!

Cautious but determined, Stiles shifted his face until he could slide his nose along the line of Derek’s collar bone, just enough to catch the skin where it peaked over a tight black t-shirt. The alpha stiffened.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice was low, rough. It was a warning, sure, but Derek hadn’t actually dropped Stiles or told him to stop.

He took a chance and pressed his lips, dry and closed but hinting at a little more, against the skin he found, then inhaled deeply. This time Derek gave a little shudder, arms tightening.

“This isn’t the time or place,” he said, and Stiles was proud of the hitch in Derek’s voice. 

“Well you said there wasn’t anything to talk about,” Stiles replied and set his teeth into the column of Derek’s neck, biting a line up to his jaw. 

The alpha groaned and half fell, dropping Stiles’ legs as he propped against one of the crumbling walls, Stiles caught under him. His eyes were burning with the kind of heat Stiles was going to remember next time he had a bit of quality alone time. He wrapped a hand around Stiles’ jaw and pressed close.

“You’ve been beaten, you’re probably concussed, you stink like fear and hurt and hunter,” Derek snarled. “Yes Stiles, I fucking love you, and your smart mouth, and your stupid moles. Now stop being an ass!”

Stiles swallowed hard, as ashamed as he was turned on which… eh, not that unusual for him. He chewed his lip and nodded anyway. “My moles aren’t stupid.”

With a huff that sounded somewhere between fond and exasperated, Derek picked Stiles back up and headed towards a sunlit doorway, or what remained of one anyway. It looked like someone had shot a cannon through the door, with bits of wood and metal everywhere. Well, that’s what they got for kidnapping a werewolf’s honey, Stiles thought lazily and let his eyes drift shut.


	2. Not Attractive Wolverine

Cold water slammed into Stiles, unforgiving as it stung the wide cut cross his nose and cheek that still bled sluggishly. He woke gasping and shaking, pulling against the ropes that fasten him to a make-shift frame. Never let it be said that rogue omega wolves were entirely uncreative. 

“You are such an asshole!” He wheezed. The water stank, like it came from a lake or maybe an old well. Stiles was fairly certain they were still either in the Preserve or at least in some of the forest land that the Preserve bordered. 

“Shut the fuck up, bait,” the omega snapped, dropping the bucket to crowd into Stiles’ face, his breath hot and ripe. “Or next time I really get you screaming, that alpha of yours is coming into the open one way or another.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, he’s out of town!” Stiles spat, then regretted wasting his breath as another bucket of rank water was thrown into his face. “This isn’t even how challenging an alpha works!” 

The omega, a squat man who seemed to be working on a ‘Not Attractive Wolverine’ look, went a shade of purple that Stiles thought might be called puce. The punch he landed hit something internally at an awkward angle and Stiles felt a weird pop that he kind of hoped was just a rib. 

He screamed, it seemed like the smart option all things considered, and fell limp. This time when he put pressure into the ropes around his wrists they felt slightly looser. God bless natural fibres. Stiles tried to side eye the fastenings without moving too much, playing defeated captive was a lot harder with a werewolf in the vicinity. Not Attractive Wolverine might be a dumbass but he still had super powered senses. 

Under the pressure of Stiles will, and a little bit of Spark, the rope gave just a fraction more. It was painstaking but at least it gave him something more to do than worry about the way he could taste blood every time he took a breath. Never let it be said that Stiles couldn’t get himself out of any situation, but he really wished half the pack hadn’t travelled out of state for a few days to visit a neighbouring pack. He wasn’t even sure Isaac would notice he was missing.

“Fucking coward Alpha!” Not Attractive Wolverine sounded like he was working his way back into a rage, muttering and stomping around the cabin. Stiles’ eyes rolled so hard he saw stars. The omega had to be a new wolf, there was just no way he’d still be alive otherwise. Random lone wolves did not do well when attacking an established pack. Plus there was the whole zero chance of beating an alpha.

Stiles bit his lip, desperate to berate the idiot again but certain he couldn’t take another fist in his ribs. Then in the distance he heard it. The sweet, sweet sound of an angry alpha howl. 

He couldn’t stop the wet chuckle that worked its way up his throat as the omega threw back the cabin door and roared his response. “Oh man, oh you are so screwed. Like, epically, will never see the light of day again screwed.”

It wasn’t surprising that Not Attractive Wolverine ignored him, bounding off into the woods towards certain death. Stiles hardly cared, Derek was back and he was stilled tied to a frame and smelled like old lake water. Dealing with the ropes was a lot easier without the watchful eyes of a captor. He was a minute from freedom, maybe less, maybe seconds, when the doorway darkened. 

Derek looked…mad? Happy? Possibly just crazy. Stiles wasn’t super sure and decided his best course of action was seductive smile number three. Apparently the effect was greatly lessened by his current predicament, Derek just huffed. 

“Um, hey buddy. So this is totally not as bad as it looks, I’m basically free already,” Stiles wiggled one hand. “See?” 

“I go on one trip,” Derek replied and walked over to Stiles, pulling away the last of the rope. “One trip, Stiles.”

“Everything was fine, I even had a movie night with Isaac,” Stiles protested, and winced as something jabbed internally. Definitely a broken rib. “And what you’re doing right now is victim blaming. It’s totally not my fault that some Wolverine wannabe turned up.”

Big, warm hands trailed over Stiles’ sides leaving a wake of cool pain relief. Derek scowled. “He hurt you.”

“Yeah, whatever, you’re home!” Stiles said, lunging at Derek. The wolf caught him in a bear hug that, lamely, involved no squeezing at all. “What, no sugar for your sugar?”

Derek titled Stiles’ face and half leant in for a kiss then paused, his nose wrinkled. “That’s an interesting smell.”

Stiles groaned. “I ignore omega blood, but you can’t deal with a little lake water?”

“Shut up Stiles,” Derek replied. This time he didn’t pause, and Stiles finally got the welcome home kiss he’d been craving. There was nothing quite like the way Derek fit against him, hot and lean, the burn of his stubble and the warm musk that was so unique. He inhaled hard as they separated, nose chasing Derek’s scent, and felt a sharp stab in his chest.

Derek winced with him and pulled back. “We need to get you Deaton, maybe a bathtub too.”

“Oh hardy ha,” Stiles muttered. He accepted the helpful arm around his back anyway, because werewolf pain relief was pretty amazing stuff and Derek was still a chiselled sex god. “So is there room for two in this hypothetical bathtub?”

“That depends on what Deaton says,” Derek replied. He guided Stiles out into the open, and when Stiles finally got home he was going to give himself a prize. They were one hundred percent in the Preserve still, not even that far from the old house if he was reading the landmarks right. 

“Wow, wannabe Wolverine really was stupid huh?”

Derek snorted. “He said he’d come to challenge me for ‘alphadom of Beacon Hills’ then tried to punch me.”

“Well color me unsurprised, at least you didn’t have to listen to him monologue about it,” Stiles said. “It was like the low rent version of your uncle, all the menace but using much shorter words.” 

It still surprised Stiles when Derek laughed, the sound was rare and precious. Maybe a little goofy too. He grinned in reply, bruised face twinging slightly, then decided to push his luck a little further. “Hey, you know, I’m still all about that princess carry.”

There was a slight pause and then Stiles was being lifted and settled, his face resting in the juncture of Derek’s neck and shoulder. “Mmm, thanks sourwolf.”

“Don’t call me that, Stiles.”


End file.
